My Name is Owen Grady and I'm a Raptor Trainer
by Setus
Summary: Hey there, name's Owen, and I'm a raptor trainer. Any self-respecting zoologist or veterinarian would go, oh, so you train birds, like eagles, falcons or whatever flies, has sharp claws, and hunt small animals. Truth is, the animals I train do hunt small animals, sometimes bigger, but they can't fly. By the way did I mention, they were extinct for a very long time? Well, until now.
Disclaimer: I do not own Owen Grady or Jurassic World elements. This is a short piece I wrote in between chapters of Jurassic War.

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Hey there, name's Owen, and I'm a raptor trainer. Any self-respecting zoologist or veterinarian would go, oh, so you train birds, like eagles, falcons or whatever flies, has sharp claws, and hunt small animals. Truth is, the animals I train do hunt small animals, sometimes bigger, but they can't fly. They love meat, that's all they eat actually. By the way did I mention, they were extinct for a very long time? Well, until now.

I work on an island off of Costa Rica, where everyday irresponsible parents bring crying and whining miniature versions of themselves and expose them to these creatures, watching them tear up innocent petting zoo animals and swallowing them. Not all petting zoo animals actually, some endangered ones like, sharks for instance, just so the corporate dudes can make a point. The point being, forget Jaws because we've got something way bigger, so say goodbye to skinny dipping, or generally going near a beach.

For me, I stay away from the crowds. They annoy me. Cheers and screams when sharks or goats get desecrated, please. Torpedoes were much softer. Also they all seemed to have the same fashion sense. Whenever I clock in from the main compound it feels like I'm walking into a garden warfare where the flowers are rebelling. They love to complicate things, an innate human ability that marvels the gods and demons alike. Just the other day I swear I heard a male and female fighting over which ones of those park t-shirts they should buy home for friends. I feel sorry for the intended recipients of these shirts with bones printed on them. But then again, part of my pay check probably came from there, so I guess thanks, is in order.

By now the clever you should realise, I work for Masrani Global, the corporation that opened Jurassic World. Yes, the same Jurassic World that was built atop of Jurassic Park that was single-handedly shut down by one computer dude. Now I'm no expert at running companies, but I think any idiot with half a brain will know that it takes teams, not people, but teams, to manage a theme park. And I think it takes a lot more when your theme park consist of animals that grows to about as big as semis.

We humans have grown up to believe and trust paleontologists, that is, people who dig up bones for a living, that dinosaurs are big, fearsome and terrible lizards. Now that is generally true, given that they have their own social structures and, are animals. They don't go to college, have jobs, or squabble with neighbors about who ate more trees and leaves. They do what it takes to survive. Yes they died in the past, yes they were brought back to life by some voodoo science, but they are still animals with hardcore instincts from millions of years ago, a world where we don't even exist. So the concept of creating a theme park with LIVE dinosaurs was generally thought to be business ideas that are discussed over lunch in a mental asylum, until it was proven wrong, and Masrani Global did make a park like that. You would think, that's wow enough, a good money printing formula that should hold up for a few centuries at least.

Of course not, I hear your clever brain protesting. People want more, governments want more, and so corporate will deliver more. Hence, I was hired, because another genius idea was conceived over yet another business lunch in the mental asylum, that we humans should find a way to train these animals and control them, so that they can eat our enemies out in the fields. At this point I salute him for embracing him inner child holding the latest video games and chucking balls at living creatures. And by him, I'm referring to the genius psycho by the name of Hoskins.

He fished me out of the Navy, where I was spending my days embracing lovely dolphins and training them to play treasure hunts, and defend the tower type of games. I loved my job back then, why wouldn't I? Dolphins are adorable. But somehow to Hoskins, training dolphins is the same as training velociraptors, to which I see no wrong in calling him a psycho. A kid can go up to a dolphin, pat it on the head, get blown water in his face and the world applauds. Try that with a raptor and the kid will be waiting in line for a prosthetic arm at least, with the world holding big signs out in the streets saying "Die Raptors Die".

So why did you take up the job, I can feel you shouting vivaciously. Well, the check was fat, and let's just say that the Navy and I had agreed to disagree, given I prefer standing over on the sea with the dolphins. Besides, how many people on earth get a chance to do something like that? I love animals, and especially adore carnivores, not because they are dangerous, but they can't be contained. Like me.

That reminds me, it's almost feeding time. I got to run before Blue chews off something that's coming out of my paycheck. Feel free to stick around, you look like the kind who is just dying to see some carnage.


End file.
